


Six Degrees of Levain

by Bumocusal, isangelousdenim



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Animal Lover Castiel (Supernatural), Attempt at Humor, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bread, Comedy, Cover Art, Dogs, Fluff and Smut, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Meddling Sam Winchester, Police Officer Dean Winchester, Rimming, Romantic Fluff, Sassy Claire Novak, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Castiel, Turtles, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-06 18:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16393088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumocusal/pseuds/Bumocusal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/isangelousdenim/pseuds/isangelousdenim
Summary: Dean has a dog that won't stop vomiting, a brother with Sasquatch hair that brings all the ladies to the yard, and is developing a particular attachment to the hot guy that jogs by his house.And because he's still a gentleman, he asks, "Can I kiss you?"Castiel doesn't look surprised. "For a cop, you surely miss a lot of evidence.""What?" Dean is confused.Castiel places his hand on Dean's jaw. "I've been dropping some serious flirtations, officer Winchester.""Oh," Dean nods like he knows what Castiel is talking about.





	Six Degrees of Levain

**Author's Note:**

> (Ignore the shitty pun of a title.)
> 
> I really shouldn't have written this, especially when I have so many other unfinished fics and a literal deadline for pinefest in less than a month, but it came to me and I couldn't stop. 
> 
> Non-beta'd because I'm too shy to keep asking. . . social anxiety is a trip, y'all—even online/not face-to-face. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for clicking onto my story (this means I enticed you enough with my summary. _SCORE! _). I'd appreciate you reading it, and then leaving feedback. If it's just a kudos, that's great! But comments are what really wet my whistle because then you can call me out on all my mistakes. I love mistakes being pointed out! LOL.__
> 
> __Sorry for the long AN, I'm just really excited for this to finally be published. So, get ready for some interesting (and hopefully original) deancas content! This fic is dedicated to everyone who reads it!_ _
> 
> __With all my love,_ _
> 
> __Abby (✿◠‿◠)_ _
> 
> __EDIT (4/2/19): Now, with nice new cover art!_ _

 

Dean wakes up to the sound of his alarm buzzing annoyingly by his head. He grunts, flinging his hand over and fumbling with the smooth screen of his iPhone to press the snooze button. Eventually, the vibrating and chirping stop and Dean drags his head out of his super downy pillow. Stumbling into his bathroom, he takes a quick shower—peeing right down the side of his leg and shaving the stubble that sprouted since yesterday, all under terrible water pressure. He only has a few razor cuts by the end. Toilet paper, as clique as it sounds, does the trick. Guess it's a stereotype for a reason. He pulls on his uniform piece by piece, his badge pinned to his shirt and belt swung low on his hips.

He does some more routine things: Throwing some kibble in the dog bowl, tightening his shoelaces, and running a hand through his hair. Then, after turning off all the lights and giving Bones a pat on the head, he locks his apartment door and waves at Benny, who is sitting in Dean's driveway in their squad car. 

Benny is Dean's partner and best friend. Ever since they graduated from the police academy together, they've been inseparable. Jody, their captain, learned early that the best way to get anything done was to simply partner Dean and Benny together. And today, the reason Dean got up at 7 AM and is downing both cups of coffee Benny brought with him, they are going to go participate in the yearly "shop with a cop" program.   

He sees a hot jogger run by as he's pulling out of the driveway—that serves as a sufficient pick-me-up.

"You still keep in touch with Krissy?" Benny asks when they're halfway to the Plucky's.

Dean shakes his head. "Not as much as I'd like."

"Don't be too upset, brother. That kid is a spitfire and no one can make her do anything." Benny says.

He doesn't reply, just lets his silence be enough of an answer. Krissy had been one of his "shop with a cop" kids a few years ago. Dean doesn't know how they pick out the kids, just knows that they're either underprivileged, live under the poverty line, or are orphans. And, as he does with all the kids he gets paired up with, he slipped her his number with a stubborn smile and a promise to pick up no matter what she wanted to talk about. Luckily, she had called him a few days later. But it had been a few months since their last call or text, and he really wishes she'd at least let him know she's alright.

When they pull up outside Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie—still as sucky of a name as when he used to drop Sammy's ass off here back in the 90's—Dean sees a few other of his cop buddies lingering outside the door: Jo, Dorothy, Charlie, Victor, Donna, and Gordon. Jody is by a school bus, head poked in the door. He grins towards Charlie and steps out of the squad car, reaching her and immediately pulling her into a bruising hug. He knows she has a hard time with "shop with a cop", being one of the disadvantaged kids that was on the other side of the coin not too many years ago. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and laughs as she punches his shoulder.

"How are ya doin', red?" He wiggles his eyebrows at her.

She snorts, punching his arm again. "You're such an idiot."

Dorothy interrupts, "Ya know, I don't really like you blatantly flirting with my girlfriend, Winchester."

Dean turns his winning smile onto her now. "You wound me, Baum. I'd love to be in the middle of your scissor sandwich."

Obviously, it's a joke. Dean would never, in a hundred million years, want to see Charlie naked or engaging in any kind of lesbian mating ritual. She's more of a sister to him than anything else. And Dorothy, by association, is also an instant turn off. But apparently, Gordon didn't get that memo. His voice is nasally when he asks, "Why can Dean-o leer and make rude comments and all you lezbos ever do is swoon?"

Before Dean can blow him out of the water with a comeback, Benny finally makes his way over. "Because Dean knows the difference between a joke and sexual harassment?"

Charlie adds under her breath, "Unlike you."

Miraculously, Jody comes over to break the tension, clapping her hands. "Alright, guys, I've got the list. Are we ready to find out what kid has the pleasure of spending a day with you knuckleheads? First, we've got officer Baum with—" Dean tunes out the names until it gets to him. "—Officer Winchester. You've got one Claire Novak. Good luck."

Saluting the group, Dean starts walking over to the school bus to get Claire Novak. 

Dean's a little nervous, actually. There's always going to be an adjustment period when getting to know someone. And that seems especially true when they're paired with one of these kids. They're already too vulnerable for this to be a normal situation. They think the cops pitty them or that they're being babied. But Dean, who had it pretty bad when he was a kid, has this way with getting to know underprivileged kids. When Dean was young, he had to take care of his little brother. He hated accepting help from anybody—his uncle Bobby, aunt Ellen, pastor Jim, or even Ms. Missouri who lived next door. So he knows you just have to treat them normally and assure them that they aren't weak for receiving help.

Claire Novak has long blonde hair, smudged eyeliner, and notable blue eyes. She is sat in the back of the bus next to another girl with darker skin and black hair. When she makes her way up the aisle, backpack swung over her right shoulder, Claire manages to bump into everyone sitting an inch too far off their outside seat. She's got braids running across the left side of her head, creating a shaved effect. Her shoes have blocky lettering all over the white parts, there are way too many damn bracelets on her wrists, and her rainbow nails are chipped.

For a thirteen-year-old, she's notably angsty.

He decides to starts with something easy. "I like your nails." 

"So you're gay?" She snorts, shoving her hands into her pockets. 

Well, maybe that wasn't as easy as he thought. And as much as he initially suspects that was a barb, after looking at her defensive posture, he figures Claire's too damn young to have such wise eyes. They make their way into Plucky's, clowns everywhere with their red noses and beady eyes. Maybe he understands why Sam hates clowns, now. As they step up to the counter where the food is ordered—one of the things the cop is required to buy is lunch—Dean scans over the menu. There's chicken fingers, hamburgers, and pizza slices on the first page. He bites his lip, looks over at Claire, who is studying her own menu, and sets the plastic thing back on the countertop.

The Plucky's employ behind the register gives him a squeaky clean smile. "Welcome to Plucky's, where all your dreams are good. What can I get you, folks, today? We're having a special on our chicken fingers: if you buy a large size we'll throw in three extra sauces for no additional price."

Before Dean can open his mouth, Claire elbows him. "Don't get the pizza. It tastes like butt." 

"Okay." Dean can't accept that there's a pizza in this world that isn't heavenly cheese and pepperoni goodness, but he wants to make a better impression. Peeking back down to his menu, he says, "I'll take a hamburger, then. No pickles. And a small sprite."  

"Same," Claire says, hip cocked. "But I want waffle fries, too."

Sliding his credit card through the card reader—and then remembering that his new card has a chip, so he has to insert the stupid thing—Dean takes a plastic number marker and both their sodas. They sit down at one of many clown nose tables, chairs entirely too short for a six-foot-tall man, and wait for a waiter to bring them their tray of food. He places the number marker on the edge of the table and then concentrates on Claire.

"So," Dean gives her a wry smile. "After we eat, do you want to go play in the ball pit or head straight to the gift shop?"

"I'm thirteen," Claire answers, raising an eyebrow. 

"Ball pit it is," Dean jokes, leaning back in his chair as the server finally sets their food and drinks on the table.

Claire digs into her burger without question, glaring up at him with chipmunk cheeks. "Ritual sacrifice it is."

"Don't speak with your mouth full," He says, chewing his own burger obnoxiously.

Before she can snark back, Benny and his kid walk up to their table. "Can we sit here, brother?"

The kid has dark brown curly hair separated into two ponytails, beautiful coffee-colored eyes, and a temporary butterfly tattoo that's halfway faded on her upper arm. He realizes a second later that she's the girl that Claire was sitting with on the bus. The two girls blush at each other, smiling woodenly as Kaia sits down in the empty seat next to Claire. 

Dean jokes after they've already sat down, "I dunno. This is _kinda_ the cool kid's table only."

"Then what are _you_ doing here, you old skeezer?" Kaia says, reaching over to steal one of Claire's waffle fries. And Claire lets her!

He glares at the traitor then back to Kaia's smug face. "Ya' know, that kinda attitude doesn't really make me want to let you sit here."

"I think you've been overruled, chief," Benny grins. 

"I'm done with your entire generation," Dean directs to both Claire and Kaia. They don't stop looking at each other. 

After scarfing down the rest of their food, Benny and Kaia's burgers being delivered not long after they sat down, Dean leans back in his plastic chair and pats his full belly. He waits patiently for Kaia to finish sucking noisily on her straw, the empty cup making a horrible noise, before he claps his hands and stands up. Since they'll be skipping the ball pit, it's time to go directly to the gift shop.

"Ready?" He asks, rubbing his greasy fingers on his pants. 

"Born ready," Claire rejoins, tailgating him then going back to Kaia. 

Benny and Kaia join their party! Dean feels like a mother duck with all these straggling ducklings behind him. Thankfully, Benny comes up to walk next to him, the girls hanging back to follow at their own disgustingly slow pace.

When Dean was their age, he remembers the "shop with a cop" program being looser than it is now. The cops could take the kids anywhere in town, buy the kid anything. . . from cigarettes to condoms. Now, the rules were stricter. They were required to stay in Plucky's for whatever the kids wanted to buy, meaning the most bizarre gift available was the clown covered merchandise. Still, he figures a clown coffee mug is a thousand times better than a carton of cancer sticks. 

The old coot that took Dean and eventually Sam, when the next group of kids got picked, shopping was officer Bobby Singer. It was back when their dad had just died, kneeling over with an abused liver and post-war hallucinations. Mary tried her hardest to be there for them, but as a single mom who had to support two boys, Dean had to be a father and a mother to poor little Sammy. Bobby Singer, after meeting Dean and acting a little too surprised when he found out all Dean wanted to buy were toys for Sam and groceries to help his mom out, stayed in Dean's life and became a sorta surrogate father figure. He's one of the main reasons why Dean wanted to join the force, including the rush of helping people and putting away bad guys.  

And that's why, after every year he does this program, he always takes the kids aside and hands them his number. Uncle Bobby, which was what he and Sam started calling him, was the reason Dean kept on the straight and narrow. And if Dean can be that for some other kid, then that's everything he can hope for.

They finally step into the gift shop. "What in the everlasting fuck?"

Dean snorts at Claire's wide-eyed incredulity. "What, you don't like clowns?"

"Have you _seen_ Pennywise?" She glares at him. "Clowns and red balloons give me the heeby-jeebies."

Dean claps her on the shoulder, "I think it's shopping time. You've got a fifty dollar cap, alright?"

She squeezes Kaia's arm, and starts walking in the opposite direction, "Do they have anything without clowns?"

"Some toothbrushes," Dean informs, gesturing towards a shelf full of them. 

In the end, Claire gets Kaia some CDs—somehow finding the only music that wasn't clown related but did have an interesting Juggalo looking guy on the back. She also buys a few potted plants for her Uncle, some hot pink Azaleas and blooming Rosales since the guy likes bees. And then she gets herself some candy (suckers, chocolate bars, and some kettle corn) and a 10 dollar confetti cake. Dean just smiles at the juvenile purchases and shoves them into the handcart he picked up while wandering. Checking out is easy, his card slides through the detector with no problem, and he carries the bags for her to a bench that's situated outside the gift shop.

Almost ten minutes later, Benny and Kaia come out with one bag and a few flowers of their own.  

"It's time to get back on the bus," Benny tells them, checking his watch and handing over the bag carefully.

Kaia, without waiting anytime, start to walk away, "You're still coming over next week right?"

Claire nods, "Definitely."

"Hey, wait up," Dean shouts, jogging over to them. Digging around in his pocket, he pulls out two pieces of paper with blue ink scribbled and smugged, Dean gives both girls his number, “No matter what time it is, or if you just want to chat, you can call me, okay? I’ll always pick up.”

While Kaia just looks confused, Claire actually seems touched. "Whatever you say, old man."

And that biting wit makes him feel accomplished. "Program me into your contacts, biker barbie."

She smiles at him and Dean feels his heart squeeze. What a great kid. 

 

 

The next morning, it's not his alarm that wakes him up. It's the glorious sound of cookie tossing. Dean groans when he sees Bones throwing up all over the 500 dollar rug his mom had bought him for Christmas last year—she'd been gifting them more and more expensive gifts since starting dating her new boyfriend. Apparently, he let her have access to his bank account and, for the first time in her life, she had real money to squander. And boy, was she squandering it! Sam got a fucking chandelier for his mildewy, one bedroom, no-pets-allowed, apartment. Now, _that_ was fun to install. 

He rushes over to the dog, wrapping his arms around it's middle and hauling it out to the front lawn. Goddamn, why did he have to feed Bones so much? He usually feels guilty when he doesn't sneak the dog at least a few table scraps, but now, as he struggles to lug him outside, he realizes that maybe it's time for a diet. It's not like Bones is one of those dogs that are too fat to move, Dean always felt sick and sad when he saw a dog like that—like the owner didn't care that they were slowly killing their dog by overfeeding them. No, Bones is just a huge breed, a Golden Retriever to be exact, that packed on a few extra pounds this winter and never really shed them.

And now he's ruining Dean's cutesy welcome mat that Charlie gave him as a home warming gift. "Wizards welcome, muggles tolerated" now read as "Wizards come"—Dean glared down at Bones for making him seem like some kind of kinky-roleplaying-"Wizards 101"-sex-fiend and finally deposited him on the too tall grass of his front lawn.

Running back over to grab a leash from the doorway hooks, and closing the screen door to keep any bugs out, Dean rushes back over to the puking dog to leash him up. Bones is an inside dog, only going outside on a leash or running around at a fenced dog park. And as much as Dean trusts him, he really _doesn't_ trust him. Like, at all. Also, the community code requires all dogs be restrained when outside and Dean wasn't about to get a 100 dollar fine thanks to a nosy nancy neighbor snitching on him to the homeowners association. 

Looking down at Bones, who has finally finished puking and is looking up at him with pitiful eyes, Dean says, "You might think those puppy dog eyes are gonna make me feel sorry for you, but nothing compares to the ones your dad flashed. I'm immune at this point. And if you keep puking, I might just drop you back off at his place, even if he isn't allowed to keep you there."

Bones whimpers, rubbing his head against Dean's leg. Without a shred of self-consciousness, Dean leans down to pet, rub, and give all the love he can to the poor pooch. Obviously, he's suffering. This isn't the first time Bones has barfed this week, and Dean still doesn't know what's wrong. He hasn't brought him to the vet since it's way out of Dean's price range, and he's tried to police what Bones has been doing before he's gotten sick but there's still a blank space of time where the dog squirms away to go do something naughty.

He scratches right above Bones' tail, smiling fondly as the dog nibbles at some clean grass. 

"Is it healthy for dogs to eat grass?”

A man is standing on the sidewalk in front of his lawn. Dean's eyes immediately are drawn to the handsome face, piercing blue eyes, and sweat dripping hair. Oh no. . . For some reason, the universe decided that now was the perfect time to send the hottest man Dean has ever seen to jog innocently by his home. Right when Bones was in the middle of retching up 24 hours worth of kibble. He probably thinks Dean is some kind of animal abuser.

Yesterday, the quick glance he got of the man jogging by had been an appreciated display. Now, it was the start of an embarrassing story he'd tell at parties to numb the humiliation the memory stirred. 

Dean answers defensively. “I don’t think he can get any sicker, pal.”

And Bones throws up in response.

The hot jogger nods, “I only know about turtles.”

Dean doesn’t know how to respond.  

Bones chew on more grass and pukes again.

“Dogs eat grass to make themselves vomit,” Dean finally says. “He must’ve eaten something bad and is trying to get it out of his system. I’ll probably end up having to take him to the vet even though I'm already tight on cash.”

The hot jogger nods again. “I hope he feels better soon.” Then runs off.

Dean is left to watch his backside. It’s a nice ass and a nice wakeup for 7 AM.

 

He takes Bones to the vet a few hours later. Thankfully, Dean didn't have to go into work today.

The vet, Amelia Richarson according to her name tag, is a kind-eyed woman that he immediately recognizes when he remembers the K9 seminar the station held last spring. She was skinnier and had a golden wedding band around her finger back then. Now, her cheeks are fuller and there's a tan line where the ring should be. Sam trips over his own feet when he sees her. Sam tagged along since Bones is his goddamn dog in the first place but, instead of being helpful, he blushes every time Amelia looks at him. Nothing ever happens, though, because Sam is a blushy dork that can’t talk to women.

While they sit in the waiting room, Dean thinks about the hot jogger. The way his stubble was at that peak point of softness, but not quite long enough to be considered a beard. His strong arms, that peaked out of his sweat-soaked tee shirt. The bold thighs and calves that came with years of running and exercising. His sharp jaw that prominently sloped and curved gracefully around his muscular neck. His goddamn  _neck_ for chrissake! It was basically porn by itself.  

Amelia comes back out an hour later and the first thing she says is: "Do you want to go out with me?"

Sam sputters, "Uh, I, um—"

Dean just wants to know if his— _Sam's_ dog is alright. What kind of operation are they running here?

"How about you give the nice lady your number, Sasquatch?" Dean suggests, exasperated.

Bones ends up being fine.

 

 

Dean has spent at least forty minutes staring out of his window in case the hot jogger happens to jog by. 

It's October—the leaves are changing into tiny little flames of red and orange, there are pumpkins and jack-o'-lantern on every doorstep, and people are busting out the scarfs and big sweaters. It's Dean's favorite time of the year. Every day this month, the entire squad is getting together to watch scary movies. Tonight, according to the list Charlie made, is the classic _Hell Hazers II: The Reckoning_. And like every year: Jo will bring some of Ellen's cider, Victor will come across as a total know-it-all when he spouts out thematic facts while they all act interested, and Benny will shove candy corn over his teeth and pretend to be a vampire. He went to sleep last night actually looking forward to the wayward tradition. Then this morning, right as the sun rose, he climbed out of his cocoon just to see the hot jogger—standing at his kitchen window, pretending to wash some spaghetti stained dishes from last night, and squinting at his frosty front lawn and yellow lined street. 

Maybe it's creepy to watch for the hot jogger, only then to ambush him, but he can readily admit to himself that his entire stomach overflows with butterflies when he sees that familiar silhouette at the end of the street. Slamming his knee into the counter as he tries to quickly get to the door, Dean ends up having to stumble clumsily outside with a barely contained giddy craze in his eyes and no reason for being outside at this time of the morning. Maybe making sure his sprinklers are on or checking his mail? They're both half-assed, but as the hot jogger gets closer he's running out of viable options.

He avoids eye contact as he nonchalantly opens his mailbox at 7 AM. God, this is so obvious. The mail was never delivered this early! In fact, the mail usually wasn't delivered before noon most days. He just looked shifty as fuck. Opening the mailbox, feeling around inside, and then closing the door. In all that time the hot jogger hadn't spoken to him. Hell, the guy was still a couple of feet away. Now, how was he going to kill time? 

"Is your dog okay?" 

Starting, he looks up and manages an uncomfortable smile, "Hey, yeah. Thanks for asking. Uh, evidently, he's allergic to gluten and grains. I mean, most dogs are but it's nice to have confirmation. Not a lot of owners know that chocolate isn't the only thing bad for their pups. I did end up taking him to the vet, as I said. And I got a pretty good discount thanks to my Casanova of a little brother. So, yeah. No more bread for Bones. Not that I was serving it to him on a silver platter. I think he was sneaking around and digging into stuff he wasn't supposed to. I have this cupboard with a bunch of rolls and loaves on a bottom shelf. . . Anyway, he's on a strict gluten-free diet now."

"Ah," The hot jogger at least pretends to be interested. "Turtles can't properly digest bread. Or dairy products, for that matter."

"Turtles, again, huh?" Dean tries to recover from his embarrassing blabbering. "Amphibian lover?"

"They're reptiles," The hot jogger corrects but inclines his head. "I'm a proud possessor of numerous turtles."

"Numerous?" Dean can't comprehend owning more than one turtle.

The hot jogger looks amused at his disbelief. "I own a rehabilitation center for abused chelonians."

That makes more sense. "Oh, neat."

 _Neat?_ What is he, a grandma?  _Nice one, Winchester._  The hot jogger takes mercy on him and pretends not to notice.

Looking towards the road, then at the rapidly rising sun, the hot jogger declares, "I better get running."

"Of course," Dean starts walking backward, faltering when he puts pressure on his tender knee. "I'll, ah, see ya' later." 

The hot jogger stares at him for a few seconds longer then sprints off down the sidewalk.

It's probably wishful thinking, but Dean swears that the guy's shorts are a little snugger than last time.

 

 

 

Sam was quiet when he was annoyed. And now, he was silent.   

It was his lunch break and Sam wanted to get together to vent. Leaning back in his chair and sucking some coke through a red and white straw, he smiles at the waitress that refills his drink. They usually go to The Roadhouse, but this time they end up at a hole-in-the-wall joint called Leahy's that makes some of the best cucumbers sandwiches Dean has ever had. Sam might make fun of him for it, but at least it's not that vegetable water the Sasquatch swears by. The first time he stopped by Sam's firm he nearly gagged when he saw the cucumber, lemon, basil, and mint floating around in the water cooler. Cucumber sat between two loaves of bread is just fine, but infused with straight up already healthy water? That's a step too far.

"So. . ." Dean twiddles his thumbs. "She wanted you to join her and her ex-husband in some kinky threesome?"

Barking out a sarcastic laugh, Sam says, "I told her I wasn't interested and she _still_ invited him over. It was so—"

"Demeaning?" Dean guesses, badge digging into his arm as he crosses them.

"I don't have a problem with the threesome part. What people want to do behind closed doors is their own business. Hell, polyamorous relationships are great." Sam sighs, "It's the way she ignored my boundaries. That's what made me angry. Why would you ever try and make someone have sex, with you and your other partner, when that person already said they didn't want to? Like, she probably didn't realize how serious I was, but even I know that unless there are established rules between consenting adults: No means no."

And that was the end of Sam's rant. He went back to silence.

Dean reaches his hand out, settling it on Sam's shoulder. "I know you're my brother and not my little sister, but want me to go beat her up?"

That seemed to do the trick. Sam smiles just in time for their waitress to come back over.

"What's got him so smiley?" She asks, sliding their food onto the table. "A minute ago he was seething."

"Just my dazzling sense of humor, Eileen," Dean smirks.

Eileen, looking at Sam, says, "The only thing dazzling around here is that smile."

Sam goes back to blushing and Dean can't contain his groan.

 

 

Kaia calls him while he’s on duty. It's been one of those days: sitting up on one of the more famous speed traps this side of Lawrence and just waiting for stupid college students to drive even one mile above the speed limit before chasing them down. Before he became a cop, Dean had always thought that the police that set up speed traps were the low kind. Now, with a few years on the force under his belt, a week of nothing and a quota that needs to be filled—it's not as simple. Benny sips on a cold brew coffee beside him, eyebrows raised when he hears the familiar voice on the other side of the receiver.

She’s crying and belligerent.

Her dad walked in on her and Clare sharing a kiss.

Dean turns on his siren and sets off for the Nieves household.

He and Benny walk in on Claire curled up in the corner with a busted lip and Kaia threatening to kill her dad with a kitchen knife. There blood on the floor and he can't tell whose it is. There's too much for it to be her busted lip. Dean flashes his badge, back up already on its way thanks to Benny, before handcuffing Mr. Nieves and sitting him in the back of the squad car. The man cusses and screams but doesn't get violent. When he looks over to Kaia, he finally sees the source of the blood. 

Claire's trying to put on a brave face, but beside her—Kaia has deep gashes on her hands from the knife she was swinging around. He checks on Claire to make sure she’s alright, touching her bloody lip tenderly and watching her wince. Then he makes sure to hold a piece of gauze over Kaia's wounds, which they always keep in the squad car in case of emergencies. He winces when he notices the other older scars on Kaia's wrists but, after a moment of deliberation, doesn't point them out. He holds both their hands and promises to give them lollipops when they get to the station.

Eventually, sheriff Mills arrives on the scene and asks, “Have you girls ever ridden in the back of a cop car?”

Despite the horrible situation, both girls look excited.

Dean and Benny escort Mr. Nieves to the station and while Benny books the man, Dean goes to check on the girls.

Jody has them in the interrogation room when Dean pops his head in. She asks him to call Claire's guardian and social services for Kaia. Dean knows Tessa, a social services agent, so he ends up calling her straight out. She agrees to come down to the station to sort out Kaia’s situation. He goes to call Claire’s parents next—but frowns when he sees her guardian is her uncle. He feels a sweet spot for both the uncle and Claire as he had to practically raise Sam on his own as well.

Her guardian, one Castiel Novak, picks up on the third ring, “Hello?”

“Is this Claire Novak’s guardian?”

He hears a sigh, “Yes. What did she steal this time?”

Dean frowns again, “Nothing, sir. In fact, she’s been the victim of a hate crime.”

A sharp inhale of breath, “Is she okay? Oh, God. Please, is she—”

Dean interrupts, “No life-threatening injuries, she just has some bumps and bruises. Still, we’re going to need to ask her a few questions. If you want to come to pick her up after we’re done, you can swing by the station. Otherwise, I can drop her off.”

“No,” Castiel replies, shakily. “I want to see her.”

“Good,” Dean smiles despite himself. “When you get to the receptionist, just ask for officer Winchester, alright?”

Walking back to the interrogation room, Dean thinks about Claire and the situation she's in. Obviously she must have some disadvantage, otherwise, she wouldn't be eligible for "shop with a cop". And after that phone call, where it was revealed that her guardian was her uncle, it's pretty obvious that the girl is an orphan. Maybe she knows a little about the situation Kaia is going to go through? It'll be nice for them to have each other during such a complex adjustment period. 

He smiles when he sees only Claire sitting behind the metal table. They really bonded during "shop with a cop", or at least he hopes they did. Dean kinda latches onto new people and holds tightly. It's a problem when the people he connects with are toxic, but it's also the reason Charlie stuck around and became his best friend. He sits next to Claire and bumps her with his elbow. 

“When I called your uncle he mentioned that you steal stuff,” Dean brings up casually.

Claire rolls her eyes. “Dude, what teenager doesn’t shoplift? I bet you did.”

“You’re right, I did,” Dean says, watching Claires face light up with disbelief and self-satisfaction. “My brother and I had gone a week without a decent meal. I stole some bread and peanut butter. Then, when I got caught, was thrown into a group home because of it. To this day I still think I was justified since I was taking care of Sammy. Are you? What do you steal?”

She avoids his eyes. “Lip gloss, key chains, just random shit that no one will miss.”

“That random shit adds up,” Dean says. “It can really hurt a business when everyone thinks that way.”

She sighs, “You don’t have to give me the _stealing is wrong_ talk, dude. We get that PSA along with the _don't do drugs_ and _always have a condom_ talk. Besides, I stopped doing that shit. The fines were adding up and I didn't want to get a part-time job mowing lawns or some other bullshit. Also, I saw how disappointed Uncle Cas was every time he saw me come home in the back of a police car. I’m an angsty teen, not an asshole.”

He changes the topic, “How are you, by the way? I mean, did Mr. Nieves get you anywhere else?”

“He just aimed for my face. Dude, it was scary as fuck. His eyes were so intense and bloodshot. I bet he was on something. And, yeah, the worst part is how much this split lip hurts,” She whines, poking it. “Hopefully it’s not gonna turn into a scar.”

“I’m not sure that a busted lip will turn into a scar, kiddo,” Dean says, “But if it does, remember that chicks dig ‘em.”

At the mention of chicks, Claire bites her lip. "What, um, what's gonna happen to Kaia?"

Dean shifts, debating honesty over comfort. "I don't know, kiddo. She'll probably end up in the foster system if she doesn't have any next of kin that will take her in."

"I'm lucky Uncle Cas wanted to adopt me," Claire says, then asks, "Will she still go to our school?"

"Maybe," Dean allows. When Claire relaxes, he adds, "But her new foster parents might not live in your district. It's kinda messy. But I got one of my friends to be her social worker, so possibly I could plant a bug in her ear to try and get Kaia to stay here for school. You know how it is to lose your parents, don't you? I know how it is as well. I think it would help Kaia having you as a friend. How about that? It might not work, but I'll try."

"Thanks, Dean," Claire looks up at him with misty eyes.

Dean scoffs, "Don't thank me. I know how young love is."

Claire squirms but doesn't deny it. "Yeah, well, fuck you then."

"Let's go back to my office and wait for your uncle," Dean stands up to hide his smirk. 

 

Castiel arrives about twenty minutes later, pulling Claire into the biggest hug imaginable. He cradles her head and rocks her back and forth. “Are you alright, Claire-bear?”

She pulls away, cheeks scarlet. “Uncle Cas, I’m fine. Jeez. Besides, Officer Winchester said that chicks dig scars, so. . .”

Dean blushes at that one, breath held for the obligatory homophobic paternal blowup.

But Castiel just smiles.

When their eyes meet, Dean feels a little light headed. It’s the hot jogger.

"Hello, officer," Castiel looks just as stunned as Dean feels. 

"Heya," Dean says, heart pounding. What a coincidence? But instead of asking the twenty questions that are burning the tip of his tongue, he shakes himself out of it when he sees Claire's perplexed expression. Reaching out for her, ruffling her hair, he says, "I guess this is goodbye. Uh, stay in school kid."

She groans, pulling away and smiling. "Can't believe I got such a dorky cop."

Dean sneaks a look back up at Castiel, who's giving him an intense stare in return. "I'm a _dork_? Don't forget you were crying over my awesomeness only a few minutes ago."

"You were crying?" Castiel asks, turning back to her clearly worried.

Claire gives Dean the biggest glare she can muster. "Thanks, dork. Snitches get stitches."

"We better go," Castiel says dryly. "Before she can threaten another officer of the law. Is there any paperwork I need to fill out?"

"Just this witness statement she gave," Dean slides over the paper. "Since she's still a minor, you need to give permission."

Castiel signs his initials on all the dotted lines and puts down the pen. "Alright. Let's go, Claire-bear."

She waves goodbye to Dean as she turns to flounce out of the room. Castiel follows behind her, sending one last look at Dean over his shoulder, before rounding the corner with Claire in tow. Holy shit! 

"What was that?" Benny asks, the largest grin on his face. _The dick had been listening in._

Dean hangs his head and curses his life. Benny wasn't the group gossip, but he tells Jo everything. And Jo can't keep her fat mouth shut to save her life. The entire encounter would be around the office, probably reaching Ellen, then Sam, and then his mom long before lunch. _Fuck_. Might as well explain everything and ease the fall out of missing information telephone. He still glares at Benny and his smug face for eavesdropping, even though this technically was their shared office.

 

 

 

"So you finally got the name of the guy you've been pining over for weeks, and you just let him leave?" Mary asks.

Dean doesn't bother looking over at her, instead, he eats the unquestionably too expensive dinner she had her personal chief make for them. "He was there to pick up his niece. Who, might I remind you, just got assaulted by some homophobic bastard. He wasn't there to shoot me down after my embarrassing attempt at flirting. It was an inappropriate place and definitely the wrong time."

"Who says he would've shot you down?" She asks, pouting. "Anyone that shoots down my baby is clearly crazy."

"I just want something consuming and simple," Dean says. "Kinda like you and Dad had."

She says sourly, "Our relationship was anything but simple. John wasn't some prince charming, Dean."

"But your new boy toy is?" Dean mutters.

"You know Arthur just wants me to be happy." She sets down her silverware sharply.

"He does," Dean sighs, all the fight leaving him. "And Dad was a PTSD'd asshole that realized drinking himself to death was easier than being there for his family. I'm not trying to say you guys were the picture-perfect couple, ma. But in the beginning, before he was deployed and came back a shell of the man you married, wasn't it simple? You ran away from home to get hitched to him. I mean, it had to be kinda consuming, right?"

"We were soulmates," Mary leans across to cup his cheek. "But when he came back from the marines, he wasn't the same man."

"I know, ma," Dean interlaces their fingers. "Thank you for stepping up when he didn't. You're one helluva mom."

She smiles fondly, "If only your brother were here, this would be some sort of family therapy."

And trust her to completely ruin a moment—but Dean still squeezes her hand in gratitude. 

"Now, tell me about the movie you kids watched last night," Mary leans back, crows feet and smile lines present.

Dean chuckles, "I honestly don't remember. We're halfway through October and the only movie that has stood out is fucking _Halloweentown_. Can you believe it? Maybe it's that creepy skeleton cab driver? We teased the shit outta Benny every time that bastard came on screen. Still, I can't believe I don't even remember what we watched last night. I must be getting old."

"You're not getting old," She rolls her eyes. "You're just drinking too much."

"What is this, six degrees of separation? Everything I say or do is related to me being an alcoholic?" Dean doesn't know anyone else like his mom: she can turn a conversation from a nice bonding moment to an all-out shouting fight in less than five minutes. Really, she's got a gift. But, since he's known her for so long, he doesn't take the bait. "Can't we just pretend to have a normal conversation for once?"

She does look a little guilty, "Sorry, honey. You know how mothers get, we're always worried."

"I know alcoholism is genetic, but I've cut back so much since joining the force," Dean sighs. "Don't be worried."

"Okay, Dean," She says. And just like that, he survived a visit to his moms.

 

"So," Jo looks at him, awkwardly. "I, uh, how are things with Castiel?"

Dean gives her a long side-eye, "What?"

"Listen, the gang sorta put me up to this," She immediately cracks.

The jukebox in the corner sputters to life, playing some shitty country ballad.

"Well," Dean swallows the neck of his beer. "Next time, don't succumb to peer pressure."

She grimaces, "Duly noted." 

 

Dorothy is next on the _ask Dean about his love_ life bandwagon. "Have you even tried to talk to him again?"

"I'm not in the mood, Dorothy," Dean grumps, watching the screen idly. 

They're halfway through the eleven Halloween movies at this point, Michael Myers has gone from a spooky baddie to a cheapy done archetype, and everyone has suspiciously gone to check up on something else. He suspected immediately that another interrogation was about to happen when: Jo shot up from the couch announced that she had to go to the bathroom for "womanly reasons", Benny said he needed to assist her, and Victor stumbled out something awkward about getting some more beer. 

Now it's just the two of them and Dean really doesn't want another intervention. 

"It's just—" She tries again.

"Stop," He says sternly. "I know you're trying to be helpful, but I _seriously_ don't want to talk about it."

She stretches over to pat his leg, "Alright, Dean. I'll respect your boundaries."

He sighed out a relieved breath. "Thanks."

"But I can't guarantee the others will." She warns. 

 

Supreme-shithead, Gordon Walker, pitches in his two cents as well: "How about you just touch dicks your gay lover already, Winchester? I'm tired of having to hear about it every time I walk into the break room. One misstep, or lingering too long around the ladies, and I'm getting an earful about your _Queer as Folk_ love life. Seriously, it's like straight women are obsessed with gay men."

"Maybe they're talking about it on purpose?" Dean suggests, "Anything to make you go away, I imagine."

" _Sure_." Gordon snorts and then says balefully, "A bimbo like Lisa Braeden isn't smart enough to start talking about the workings of anal sex every time I'm in her proximity."

"Lisa is a conniving genius," Dean rebuts. "Besides, with Andy on her side, who knows. . . I heard the last guy that pissed him off was tormented with gay porn for months." 

That actually makes Gordon look startled, but the asshole continues, "You just fuck your twinkle-toes and we won't have a problem."

"When homophobes start suggesting guys fuck guys, you know it's serious," Charlie states as she pokes her head into the open door.

Dean pulls on his headphones to drown out the nonsense. He doesn't know if this was a planned discussion, with Charlie's snarky little comment the deemed icing-on-top zinger, or if Gordon did this out of his own free will. But the whole thing resolutely  _did not_ make him want to reach out to Castiel, so it was a "mission failed, we'll get'em next time" for them, regardless of intention. He just hopes they stop their dumbass crusade when they notice the zero effect.

 

But nothing's that simple. Actually, they pull out the big guns and get Sam to stick his big nose where it doesn't belong.

"Have you talked to Castiel lately?" Sam asks.

"I thought we were here to talk about you and Eileen?" Dean sighs, completely over the entire thing by now.

"Sure," Sam agrees, "But that goes both ways, doesn't it? You ask about her, I ask about him?"

Dean looks at him with a hard glare, "I'm sure you've been gossiping with mom and everyone else by now. You know how our last conversation ended. . . Benny was there for chrissake! You also know why I didn't pursue him. _Damn_. Why do I keep having to rehash this? Does the squad talk over a party line about my life? Seriously, do you have a group chat? Who is the main instigator?"

Sam pauses to think, "It's mainly mom and Ellen. They're the worst."

"I could've guessed that," Dean rolls his eyes. 

"And no, there's no secret group chat about your love life." Sam adds, "But we do have one called _Dean's support system._ It's just me, Charlie, and Benny."

Why did that make him feel so gooey? "Shit, I can't even stay mad at you guys for something wholesome like that."

Sam looks at him wistfully, "We just want you to be happy, Dean. You know that right?"

"Of course, I know that," Dean says. "And listen, it's been like, I dunno, half a month since I talked to Cas. Honestly, I could probably wake up at 7 AM and see him running by my house again. I'm just lazy. And kind of embarrassed by how our last conversation went. I mean, I tried to be professional, but it was obvious enough to Benny that I was a blushing mess. And then the time before that, I just couldn't shut up about Bones' allergy to gluten. I've humiliated myself enough around him for a lifetime. I kinda just wanna hide under a rock for a while, rebuild my confidence, and then maybe I'll try and see him again. Okay?"

"Okay, Dean," Sam says, clearly satisfied.

"Now, tell me about Eileen," Dean urges.

"Sure," Sam's grin is evidence enough that he was excited for this part anyway.

 

 

 

Dean takes Bones outside for his nightly poop. It's mid-November, now. The summery hotness that encased October has swiftly changed into a straight winter wonderland without remorse—Charlie declares climate change is to blame while Dorothy spews out some mystic cause about mother earth being upset. . . which Charlie links back to climate change. Honestly, the November chill is nice. As much as an elongated summer had been pleasant, the weather was now perfect for nonguilty hot chocolate consumption. 

Watching the dog squirt out a reasonably sizes turd, he leans over to bag it.

"Hello officer," The voice startles Dean into almost dropping the bagged dog shit on the ground. 

Glancing over, he sees Castiel. "Oh, hey, Cas. What're you doing here?"

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he slips the full bag into his hoodie pouch.

Castiel says, "I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for Claire."

He is still in the rebuilding confidence portion of that speech he gave Sammy, but just looking into Castiel's eyes and he's ready to be a blubbering mess again. It's almost 8 PM now, there's a bag of dog shit in his pocket, and Dean can't imagine a different scenario where he'd rather talk to Castiel. This was, unquestionably, perfect. Castiel looks different than he did in his jogging outfit. Dean barely had time to notice at the police station, but the suit and trench coat combo looks less creepy than it should. Castiel, instead of looking like some pervy "don't look, Margret" flasher, actually resembled a rumpled tax accountant sex-god.

"I'm just doing my job," He says the hackneyed phrase. Because what else is he supposed to do, accept the compliment?

"No," Castiel shakes his head, "It's not your job to be friends with Claire. You listened to her when a lot of adults would pass right over her. It really. . . It means a lot to me that you didn't try to sweep her under the rug because she's a little wayward. I'm gushing now, but you really superseded my expectations, officer Winchester." 

"Uh," He rubs the back of his neck, "I don't know what to say, Cas."

Castiel squints at him, then down at Bones. "It's rare to see you without your dog."

Dean appreciates the change of subject: sharing and caring were getting painful. "Well, trade secret, he's not really my dog."

"Really?" Castiel steps closer, his eyes stare into Dean's without discomfort.

"I'm just a glorified puppy sitter," Dean shrugs, unable to break their tension-filled gaze.

Castiel comes even closer—his eyes a beautiful frosty azure this close. "But you took him to the vet?"

Dean's breath hitches at their proximity. "I'm just _really_ dedicated to my craft."

"Which is owning a dog?" Castiel is finally close enough for Dean to count his eyelashes.

He's about to go on the long awkward tangent about how Sam is Bones actual owner, but he has an epiphany: The air is cold. It's smack dab in the middle of fall, past the time of day where the sun is still warming the air, and Castiel's lips are chapped from the windy breeze. Essentially, Jack Frost is doing his job. So, Dean can start a sarcastic monologue about teasing his little brother, or he can lean over and kiss the fuck outta Castiel's mouth. They're literally a breath away, all Dean would have to do is move a centimeter and they'd be lip to lip. The air is cold, but he suspects Castiel's breath isn't.

And because he's still a gentleman, he asks, "Can I kiss you?"

Castiel doesn't look surprised. "For a cop, you surely miss a lot of evidence."

"What?" Dean is confused.

Castiel places his hand on Dean's jaw. "I've been dropping some serious flirtations, officer Winchester."

"Oh," Dean nods like he knows what Castiel is talking about.

Then they're kissing.

The first sensation Dean gets is the flavor of Castiel's mouth: it's sweet like honey, with a strong kick of lavender tea and something else Dean can't quite put his finger on. He was right in assuming Castiel's breath would be warm, it feels like a furnace in the chilly air of November. Dean melts into the kiss, hands resting on Castiel's neck to stroke the prominent sweep of his Adam's apple. He's had dreams about this neck, and now he's caressing it! His lips feel chapped against Dean's, but still as soft and full as Dean imagined. Castiel deepens the kiss and turns his head to brush their noses together. The cold tips touch and Dean feels goosebumps break out over his skin.

"Let's get inside," Dean pulls back to say.

Castiel looks at him with hooded eyes and saliva slick lips. "Are you sure?"

Dean barely contains an eye roll. "You came here to seduce me and now you're backing out? Talk about mixed signals, man."

"I just want you to be aware that I'll respect even the slightest doubt," Castiel says sternly. "Consent is important, Dean."

"Of course it is," Dean starts dragging them through the door. "And I'm giving you express permission to do whatever you want to me."

And, like Dean hoped they would, the words spring Castiel into action. Pressed against the other side of the, now closed and locked, door—Dean sighs breathily as Castiel mangles their bodies together. He shoves his thigh between Dean's legs, giving him just the right amount of friction to start chubbing up in the tight confinements of his jeans. Reaching down, almost like he read Dean's mind, Castiel pops open his pant's button and slowly undoes the zipper. He has half a mind to scream _Freedom_ like he's Mel Gibson.

"You have really nice fingers. . ." Dean moans out.

Castiel continues to drag his hands over Dean's ribs. "Where's your bedroom?"

Dean gestures down the hallway and lets out an excited cry as Castiel drags them towards it. They come crashing through the bedroom's threshold, landing unceremoniously on the memory foam mattress. Stripping out of their tops, his hoodie getting hung around his head for a split second before slipping off like butter, Dean shivers even more than he did outside when Castiel touches his coarse thumb pad to Dean's perky nipples. Their pants are next, thrown around the room without a care in the world. Down to just their boxers, and in Castiel's case—a pair of bright orange briefs, Dean shudders out a groan when Castiel reaches down to cup the noticeable bulge under his underwear. 

And when the underwear is gone, Dean sucks in a sharp gasp as his cock springs up and smacks the bottom of his stomach. Newly exposed, the pink tip of his dick leaking and more sensitive than he can ever remember, Dean starts grinding down on Castiel. He jumps a little when Castiel's dick slips between his two cheeks, but keeps rubbing when he sees how flushed Castiel is becoming. Their lips find each other again, slotting together like two puzzle pieces. 

"I couldn't stop thinking about you after I left the station," Castiel whispers into his mouth.

"Me neither," Dean replies, groaning as Castiel starts sucking on his tongue.

Squirming in Castiel's lap, Dean can't help but feel confused as Castiel slowly lays down with his head propped on a pillow. But the confusion doesn't last long—he gasps as Castiel pulls him, hands clasped tightly around his thighs, right up to his face. His hole is directly over Castiel's chin, ripe for the picking and exposed for Castiel to tongue his tongue out and. . . _Oh_ , sweet Mary mother of fuck!

Castiel sucks the rims, shoves his tongue in, and even adds a dry blunt finger to tug at the ring of muscles. Dean's body shakes as he starts slowly bucking up and down. He's never been rimmed before, always being the giver instead of the receiver. There’s just something strangely satisfying about having a girl face-down-ass-up and licking them from clit to ass. And, on the flip side, eating ass is great when he wants to take a break from sucking dick. The whole "jaw aching" thing was only hot so many times. But no one has ever tried to switch the roles, until now. Until Castiel. Dean is fucking  _ridding_ Castiel's face!

Falling backward onto the mattress, Dean almost cums when Castiel shoves two fingers inside and caresses his prostate.  

"Lube?" Castiel asks, chin wet and eyes crazed. 

Dean has to squeeze the base of his dick to last. "Bedside drawer, next to the condoms and—"

"—Vibrators," Castiel finishes the sentence for him, pulling out a vibrant pink vibrator. 

He can't bring himself to be embarrassed. "FYI, the next drawer down is dildos and butt plugs."

Castiel looks intrigued. "Do you want me to open you up with this? It's smaller than me."

Dean can't choose, but he does know one thing: "I want to feel you."

"Yes," Castiel says, lips parted. "Turn over."

Scrambling to get on all fours, Dean flinches when a cold lubed finger re-enters his hole. Already loose from Castiel eating him out, it only takes a couple minutes for a third finger to slip in alongside the rest. It burns like always, the strain of three fingers feels foreign and unpleasant. But after a few seconds of stretching, Dean relaxes enough for it to start to feel good. . . Castiel erratically bumping into his prostate helps, too. He keeps his hand on the base of his dick, scared he'll cum before he even gets fucked. Dean isn't the type to cum untouched, but he was already on edge just from their kissing. His hips start aching, so he reaches up for a pillow to shove under and support his waist—which in turn presents his ass even more.

He bites his knuckle to silence the shriek that almost escapes when the vibrator unexpectedly comes to life on his rim. 

Craning his neck awkwardly to glare at Castiel, Dean snips, "Give a guy a little warning next time, Constantine." 

Castiel simply smiles a mischevious smirk, "Just wanted to see if it worked, is all."

"Are you going to fuck me or not?" Dean tries to push back on the vibrator but it pulls away. "I'm getting antsy." 

Castiel brings back the vibrator to push at his ring of muscles. "I'll fill your pretty pink hole if you say please."

Dean normally doesn't beg, but he wanted Castiel in him, like, yesterday. So when his mouth opens, he starts to babble out some shit he'll likely cringe at when he doesn't have his lust-goggles on. "Please, Cas. . . please fuck me. Hurry and fuck me. Please. Oh, sweet mary mother of fucking shit, just do it already. Oh, please, God."

The tip of the vibrator presses past him rim and flutters achingly-beautifully inside of him. Before he has any time to adjust, the vibrator rubs his prostate and everything whites out. Castiel must've remembered it's exact spot from when he was fingering him. The feeling of having your prostate massaged is like no sensation he can describe, it's like orgasming but not from his dick. . . kind of like someone squeezing his balls and pressing his taint, whilst offering him a million dollars in cash and the keys to the vintage red-with-a-white stripe Ford Gran Torino from Starsky and Hutch. It's pure bliss.

And when he's leaking again, his hole completely stretched, and his eyes glazed over in unsullied lust—Castiel pulls out the vibrator and starts shoving his own dick right inside Dean. (Thankfully, he's wearing a condom. Though, and this is probably a bad thing, he has no idea when Castiel put it on.)

He's lightheaded, vision doubled and toes curled, as Castiel slowly inch-by-inch presses his way inside of Dean's sensitive hole. He's bigger than the vibrator, something Dean knew but didn't really processed until the strain of Castiel's girth burned his rim with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Oh fuck, _Castiel was big_. Not as long as the eight-inch dildo Dean kept in his bedside drawer, but maybe a greater width. . . it felt like he was being split open with unabashed lust and heat. If he thought Castiel's breath was warm, it had nothing on the blistering heat of his dick gliding effortlessly deeper into the expanse of his ass.

He cries out when Castiel bottoms out. And after a few moments of just laying there like a Kebab, Dean starts to hump the pillow under his thighs simultaneously with Castiel's slow shallow thrusts. It's not great stimulation, but at least it's friction. He whines into his palm, swallowing down all the words that threaten to spill out of his fucked-so-good and disconnected-from-his-brain mouth.

Castiel pauses, "What are you saying, Dean?"

"Faster, please," Dean whimpers out, both upset at the grueling pace yet utterly overwhelmed. "Harder."

"Since you asked so nicely," Castiel replies, pulling out to his tip only to thrust himself back in with a snap of his hips.

Dean is slack-jawed, unable to make any noise, as Castiel starts pumping in and out of him like a jackhammer. And every other time he pushes inside, he bumps right into Dean's prostate. It's devastatingly astonishing; the feeling of Castiel spreading open his cheeks and slamming his cock right into Dean like an animalistic predator. Like Dean was made for this exact act—to accept Castiel's dick. Dean feels the sweat running down his shoulders and his neck as Castiel starts focusing on his prostate instead of intermediately hitting it. He's still speechless, mouth hanging wide open and eyes seeing stars, but the pressure builds enormously as Castiel pushes directly against his g-spot. 

"I'm gonna cum," Dean breathes. The pressure keeps building and building. "I'm. . . I'm about to—"

"Yes," Castiel falls onto his back and hums into his ear, "Orgasm from only my cock, Dean."

He gasps fully and is as rigid as a board as he cums the hardest he's ever cum in his life. He writhes and jerks with the shots of pleasure that shot through him, eyes rolling into the back of his skull, and as soon as he's done Dean goes limp against the mattress and can barely move. He feels Castiel pull out of him, still hard, and noisily pull the condom off of his dick to toss it into the trash can beside the bed. Dean manages to roll over onto his back, facing Castiel for the first time, and stare at him directly as he starts to jerk himself off.

"Cum on my face," Dean looks up at Castiel's rosy face and wanton gaze. "Please, Cas." 

Evidently, Castiel doesn't need him to beg this time. He uses his free hand to yank Dean up in a half-seated position, resting against the sweat drenched pillow. Dean is shocked, yet undeniably onboard when Castiel pushes his fingers into Dean's mouth to keep it open. Looming over him, Castiel starts to stroke his already-on-the-verge-of-orgasming dick right over Dean's open mouth. And, without any warning, Castiel shoots his load directly onto Dean's face. Some of it gets into Dean's mouth, most of it catches on the plush mound of his lips, and even a few rebel drops have landed as far as the corner of his left eye. 

"You're so exquisite," Castiel says while he rubs the cum into Dean's skin, then he pressed their foreheads together. 

Dean laughed breathlessly, "Holy shit. You're not so bad yourself, Cas."

And since they're so close anyway, their lips just fall together.

They kiss again and again and again. It's these little pecks that want to be more. After a few seconds, Dean deepens one of the kisses and grins at the taste of himself in Castiel's mouth. He knows the whole "ATM" stigma, but honestly—if he can let Castiel eat his ass, why is kissing him afterward such a reach? Besides, he literally just took a shower not twenty minutes before taking Bones outside. So, it's not like there's anything down there besides sexed sweat and apple pie flavored lube.

Castiel pulls away to say, "I think there's chocolate on the bed."

Dean scrunches his eyebrows, "I don't eat in here. And I haven't had anything chocolate in a while."

"Then what's that next to us?" Castiel asks, just as perplexed.

Looking over at the spot where Castiel indicated, Dean immediately groans. "Oh my God."

Sensing his distress, Castiel pulls back even further. "What's wrong?"

Dean is out of it enough to shout, "Bones' shit must've fallen out of my pocket when we were taking off my sweatshirt!" 

Instead of throwing up or pushing Dean away like he's a leper, Castiel guffaws. "We had sex for the first time next to a pile of dog feces?"

"I, uh, guess so," Dean has never felt more embarrassed in his entire life.

Castiel stares into his eyes, "I think I may be in love with you."

 

 

 

He wakes up to a morning-breath-riddled-mouth pressing against his.

"Gross," He mumbles, giving in to the kiss and secretly enjoying it. "Your breath is rank, dude."

"Do you have a spare toothbrush?" Castiel asks.

Dean looks up at him—smiling at the wild condition of his hair. It's even more sexed up than before, which had seemed impossible considering the way Castiel's hair naturally looked like someone used it to pull and drag fingers through. "Ensuite bathroom, third drawer down on the left side. And hurry up, I like making out with you."

After Castiel's unprecedented love confession last night, Dean had stripped the bed, changed the sheets, scrubbed the spot on the mattress with every cleaner known to man, before making them both take a shower. He wasn't a germaphobe, but even being in the same presence as the dog shit had given him some serious mysophobia heebie-jeebies. Maybe it was the fact that his orifices could've been contaminated at any time, but he was never letting the passion of the moment overwhelm him to the point of not noticing—or smelling—something so revolting in the vicinity of them having sex ever again.

There's a crash outside his bedroom, and not coming from the ensuite where Castiel is pilfering around. He springs out of bed and grabs the first thing he can reach. Tiptoeing down the hallway, he jumps into the living room with a low shout to scare off any intruders. Said intruder stares at him wide-eyed, key clutched in his left hand, with a leash in the right.

"Sam?" Dean lowers the lightsaber.

Sam groans, "Dean! Put some pants on for chrissake!"

Dean rolls his eyes, "Why the hell are you in my house?"

"I came over to get _my_ dog!" Sam exclaimed. "And you scarred me for life."

"Oh, he's suddenly your dog? What's going on? Where's the camera crew? Sam is actually taking responsibility for the mangy mutt?" Dean dramatically clutches his chest. Castiel snorts as he comes up beside him, apparently having witnessed the better part of the confrontation, and offering him a robe. Dean pulls it on and enjoys a kiss from Castiel's plush lips. Ah, nice and minty! "Really, though, did you finally convince your mega-douche of a landlord to let you have a dog?"

"No," Sam finally looks back over. "Just wanted to go for a walk in the park."

Dean scrunches his nose, "Sounds romantic. Anything you wanna tell me? I'm gonna start assuming if you don't spill."

"Eileen suggested it," Sam finally broke.

"Ah," Dean smirks. "And she didn't try to pressure you into any freaky ménage à trois?"

"No, Dean," Sam sighs, then smiles softly, "She's actually kinda possessive."

Castiel leans into Dean, arm around his waist, "Maybe we could double date?"

"Oh no," Sam grimaces.

And Dean grins, "Oh yes!"

"You two are gonna be trouble, aren't you?" Sam asked, glaring.

Castiel blinks innocently, "Whatever could you mean, Samuel?"

And Dean cackles endlessly. God, this was just perfect. 

Then Bones pukes all over his bare feet. "Goddammit! I moved the fucking bread, how did you get into it?"

"Karma!" Sam shouts.

And with Castiel curled around at his side, his brother smiling victoriously in front of him, and Bones looking up at him with pitiful eyes: Dean can't be too pissed. In fact, he just reaches down to pet Bones. Then leans over to kiss Castiel. And finally pulls Sam in for a hug—making the kid step directly into the mushy vomit. And since this is a "no shoes home", Sam's socks are steeped with chunky porridge-ish bile.

He smiles evilly at Sam's horrified face, "Karma, indeed."

 

**Author's Note:**

> (If you want to message me any prompts or just talk, my twitter is @ImpalaLostiel - I might even tweet about future fics!)
> 
> Comment, kudos, and bookmark! I appreciate the feedback.


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